No spell of peace can slow the burn of Strife;
Such tranquil lull is but a fleeting friend.
A golden apple dooms a mortal life;
She, to sanguine fields of battle send.
For mighty Zeus, his Bolt could naught but fade,
Ere mortal plains should suffer unhinged wrath,
Lest Hades' realm be packed to brim with Shades;
Such wretched souls bound e'er to lonesome paths.:
Those needless deaths, the gravest mortal pain;
Thunder sent by Gods who spurned their pleas.
The mortal prayers were not all sent in vain;
The bark has been stripped off the Blasted Tree.